It was quite interesting, this charade of a herd meeting. Grimalkin had attended one before, one where an enemy of the herd was announced, where they were all united against a common threat, a promise of bloodshed or something… But this? This was a farce, a castle built by sand, great and domineering, knocked down by a child's tantrum. Emeraldine eyes watched it all unfold before him, his thoughts silent, his expression unreadable. Antlers barely moved as his attention flitted from member to member, recognising a few (not recognising most), his ears swivelled amongst his thick blonde threads, capturing all that was to be said.

It was amazing what one could learn through mere observation. The effects of disloyalty, of betrayal, it seemed, were harsh - and Grimalkin was glad to learn this lesson through observation rather than direct experience. The steed himself was not the most loyal lad, but he was smart, he knew how to play his cards and come out on top - so far, anyway. He was playing the conservative role for now, keeping his game close to his heart, folding to the better players until he knew he had the winning hand. He would be the loyal servant of the herd, albeit a mostly silent one for now, until he knew he could succeed otherwise.

The effects of appointing potentially unsuitable leaders and expecting the greater gathered to embrace them was another lesson. Seek the opinions of others, the young steed learned, though he didn't know just what each and every member had been through, he certainly learned a lot about that today too. Arah's claims were pitiful - was she truly the enchanting damsel he had found under the Arch? The beautiful nymph who he danced with beneath the curious lights of the icy glacier? Now he saw another side to her - the foolish, hormonal, childish side, the side who walked out of the room lest she hear herself corrected by her senior, the side who shattered what little adoration the stallion might have found for her.

Still, he found himself amused by her actions, albeit quietly and only to himself.

The prince's form was off to the side, his dark roan hide recognisably related to their great liege and lord father, Deimos. With a grin the brute moved quietly, with surprising purpose and agility, to young Erebos' side, brushing a muzzle against the lad's shoulder in greeting, winking a chocolate eyelid to lighten the sombre tones of their predicament. Much like the boy, Grimalkin simply remained stoic and silent throughout - he would offer his opinion if it was asked, he would contribute if his voice was sought to be heard, but until then, he would not breath a word of what he thought, what he wanted, what he knew this herd needed.

grimalkin